


Worth Remembering

by wellhellofuture



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkward Steve Rogers, F/M, It's Peggy's birthday, Peggy Carter Lives, Peggy gets a tattoo, they have sex in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 02:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16904319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellhellofuture/pseuds/wellhellofuture
Summary: When Steve Rogers wakes up in 2011 and realizes that Peggy Carter is alive and well and has been for the past 70 years--but hasn't aged--he can't imagine she still feels the same way she used to in the 40s. He does a poor job of ignoring her until he can't anymore.





	Worth Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling around in my head and I have not been able to accomplish anything else for lack of finishing this, so here we go. 
> 
> There's Awkward Steve and Confident Steve and Drunk Peggy and it's all a bunch of shenanigans with a happy ending. Enjoy.

It was easier than Steve would have thought to forget where he was. It was simple to tuck himself in the corner of the gym and whale away at the old leather punching bag to his heart’s content (or the chain’s end, whichever came first). It wasn’t too hard to take the dinkiest booth in the diner four blocks down the street, order a black coffee and watch the regulars—old, gnarled men with pageboy caps and the newspaper—filter in and out over the course of a few hours. He could easily find time to kick back on his too-comfy bed, close his eyes, and listen to an old recording of a Dodgers game on the PA system with the help of JARVIS. 

It was easy enough for Steve to forget he was here. But he could never possibly forget she was here, too. 

-

When he’d woken, and Fury had collected him from Times Square, he’d had tons of questions. What year was it exactly? How had he survived? The war? Schmidt? His friends?

There was one question he hadn’t dared ask, one person he couldn’t have born the weight of losing. Which was all very well, since he’d been sitting in a glass-walled waiting room for yet another psychiatric eval when he’d seen the very subject of his questions walk by, looking as young and vibrant as ever. He’d shot up out of his seat in an instant, but before he could go after her, Fury had come from behind and plopped him back down with a firm hand.

“Son, there’s a lot you don’t know about Peggy Carter these days.”

—

Fury had proceeded to tell him about the years after his perceived death, the dissolution of the SSR, and the efforts by Peggy, Howard, and her friends to put away the remnants of Hydra. He learned about the vials of blood secreted away and how Peggy had chosen to shatter the vial in her own palm rather than run the risk of Hydra operatives getting ahold of it in a particularly dicey situation—a situation that ended in her exposure to a Nitramene explosion and, consequently, a huge amount of VitaRays.

Needless to say, she’d undergone a similar transformation to him. It happened more slowly, over time, the residual VitaRays in her system working in a slow, methodical process combined with her exposure to his blood. It wasn’t the flashy lights and screams of his own transformation, but it was effective nonetheless, and he was no longer the only Super Soldier running around. 

She’d found that a side effect of the serum was seriously delayed aging—she’d barely aged 10 years in the 70 she’d spent since the incident—and thus had been forced to withdraw from the SSR. She’d kept her head down every few decades, hiding her identity from those who would seek to destroy her, but had still proven a hugely resourceful operative to be used when necessary. She was still involved in SHIELD—the new SSR, he learned—and yes, he would meet her soon.

At first, he’d been elated. Someone who knew him, who understood him, who had seen the same things he’d seen. Someone who remembered when gas could be bought with only a few coins and when no one knew what “venti” meant except the Italians. Yet the more he thought about all the things she’d experienced, both then and now, he worked himself into quite the state. The fact remained that Peggy Carter had been through of a lot more than Steve Rogers ever would. And she’d done it all without him.

And well, once he’d realized that, he was a goner. Before he’d even officially met her in person in the current era, he’d convinced himself that her once-apparent affections were a trick of the mind born of too many years spent not using his brain. Peggy Carter was, as always, amazingly out of his league.

—

So, by the time he met her, for the second time, any face he’d been able to build during their previous months together had utterly fallen to bits. He was once more the stuttering, awkward, bumbling creature of his youth, exasperated even more by the constant presence of Important People and his explicit knowledge of all Peggy had been up to while he slept away in his ice coffin. 

The particular meeting in which he finally met Peggy was to discuss the possibility of exploring one of the team’s leads in the Middle East, with Steve operating on the ground control team in New York while he finished adjusting. 

He bumbled his way through the already-strange introductions: “Nice to meet—ah, it’s a pleasure to—, what I mean is, uh, hello.”

If that wasn’t a second impression worthy of digging oneself an early grave he didn’t know what was. He rather thought his first impression, back during basic training, as embarrassing as it had been, was miles beyond this one. Luckily, mercifully, with all the grace and tact Steve remembered, Peggy gamely stepped up to the challenge and managed to salvage the conversation. 

“You look well, Steve. It’s so nice to see you again.” He nodded jerkily and that was that. On to the infinitely easier business of taking care of his problems with a few strategic punches. 

—

Over the next few weeks, Steve saw little of Peggy. When he did see her, it was as impossible as it had always been to ignore the delicate swoop of her hair down her shoulders, the curve of her breasts down to her waist and out again at her hips, and the irresistible draw of her lips, now painted a more modern mauve but no less tempting. He simply knew better than to stare, or even worse, act on his interest. He might’ve trusted their connection 70 years ago, but with so much time having passed from her perspective and his still being unable to tell a USB from a TMI, he knew they were irreconcilably different. 

At first, his mind had been hell-bent on tricking him into thinking she was still interested in pursuing him. He imagined her eyes lingering on his during meetings, her gaze boring deeper than surface value on the rare occasion that he weighed in. He caught himself dreaming that she hung back at the end of groups to see if he would catch up. Worst of all, early on, he’d nearly believed she’d lounged around one memorable night waiting for him. 

The rest of the team had been on Capital Hill fielding press conferences about the latest blowup when he’d found her sprawled messily on the couch in the common area. She’d been clad in loose, low laying sweatpants which still managed to highlight her shapely leg muscles and never seemed to bag around her ankles like his own sweatpants did. What had Natasha called those pants? Sprinters? Runners? He couldn’t remember. The pants combined with her snug tank top—which he’d bet his albeit small pension she hadn’t worn with a bra—bared her midriff when she shifted her position and left his brain capacity at near zero. On his way through the kitchen in search of a snack, he’d been on the verge of asking if he could join her in channel surfing when he’d noticed the pair of glasses and bottle of wine chilling on the coffee table. The apple he’d just selected from the bowl on the counter rolled out of his grasp and proceeded to knock a used cup, several pens, and a stack of DVDs onto the floor in one fell swoop. He flushed red, both from the ruckus and the realization that he was interrupting a date night, and spoke loudly over Peggy’s certain request for him to leave the room. “So sorry, I don’t—that apple must’ve been really clean, it was so slick—I’m going to bed,” he stumbled over the words, then hurriedly rushed to his room. What if he’d actually been dense enough to insert himself into her date night? He shook his head at his own stupidity.

But slowly, gratefully, Steve noticed his mind tricking him less and less. Peggy’s eyes didn’t seem to linger in meetings anymore. She rarely took more time than necessary to gather her belongings and left the room with the rest of the team. And he never saw her in anything more revealing than a T-shirt and shorts, though, still adjusting to womenswear in the 2010s, privately felt that those shorts were mighty revealing as is. He sometimes caught himself wondering who the mystery guy had been and if the movie date had gone well. Peggy never seemed to be leaving the Tower for date night—not that he was keeping tabs on her, he was observant was all—but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. 

Then, fatefully, nearly two months after he’d re-made her acquaintance, Steve and Peggy were assigned as ops partners for the next mission. When Fury had made the announcement in their morning meeting, Steve’s shoulders had slumped. An indeterminable amount of time spent pretending he could ignore his draw to her, in close quarters and under high amounts of stress? On top of the fact that Peggy had just gotten her hair cut, the shorter length bouncing around her cheekbones and jawline, framing them beautifully every time he glanced her way? The universe was trying to punish him for still wanting her.

After spending the rest of the meeting distracted by thoughts of everything that could go wrong on the mission, Steve couldn’t get out of the meeting fast enough. He stalked down the corridor to his room, yanked off his jeans in favor of a pair of athletic shorts, and steadfastly headed toward the gym. He made a detour to refill his water bottle in the kitchen only to find Peggy absently stirring a mug of tea in front of the sink. His stomach fluttered at the the thought of crowding up behind her, reaching around her to the faucet, and letting the natural events play out after, but he resolved himself to the task at hand.

At the sound of his footsteps, Peggy turned. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wry, self-deprecating half-smile. “Hello, Steve,” she said. “Are you alright?”

“I—am I alright? Er, yeah, fine,” he managed, trying to look everywhere except directly at her. Peggy sighed.

“Steve, we—we were friends, weren’t we? So long ago?” she asked, not without a perceptible tinge of sadness. Steve froze. 

Friends? The two of them? At the time, he’d rather hoped they’d had something a little more special going on, but he imagined that after all the years maybe they didn’t remember quite the same things. And besides, that was 70 years ago. Most of which Peggy had spent doing and seeing a hell of a lot more than Steve himself had done. 

“Yeah, Peggy, we were friends, I guess. Why d’you ask?” he replied, hating every second he spent shifting his weight awkwardly in the kitchen when he could be taking his frustration out on the bag in the gym. It was about time he broke another one. He rather enjoyed the look on Tony's face when he had to order a new one to be hung. 

“Steven Rogers, you can’t pretend that you’ve not been avoiding me ever since you realized I was stuck here, too," Peggy said. "And while I’d very much like to know why, exactly, you’ve been doing that, I figure it’s your personal business.” At this she paused, took a breath and squared her shoulders in determination. Her tone changed slightly as she continued, more like the removed CO Steve remembered than the woman he'd worshipped. “I just—Steve, I know your skill and I know mine. We are both excellent additions to this operation and the whole thing would just go so much more swimmingly if we could be cordial. Does that sound like something you think you could manage?” she said, just as primly as he remembered her giving orders back on base. 

She’d lost most of her strong accent over the years, but for a moment Steve was transported back to walking around camp at her side. It had been the only real time they could guarantee to have together, so he’d taken to following her around as she checked in on various projects, offering advice and corrections all along the way. They were some of his most cherished moments throughout the days, a respite from the stress and action and go-go-go of life at war. Just for a moment, it was like he’d never left and there weren’t so many insurmountable years and spaces between them.

He supposed he’d been quietly stuck in his memories for too long when Peggy sighed again, more of a frustrated huff this time. He was glad to see she hadn’t lost her temper over the years.

“Well, I can see that even friendship is not something you’re interested in, much less anything else, so I shall let you go about your day. I just hope—“ He cut her off, for as much as he hated having to hide his obvious draw to her, he hated even more the thought of her being disappointed in him.

“Friends. Let’s be friends, Peggy. I can do that.”

She startled at his abrupt interjection. He supposed it was probably the clearest string of sentences he’d strung together in her presence in the past few months. The wry grin twitched at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes tightened ever so slightly. Steve could tell the burden it would be for her, forcing herself to be friendly with him for the sake of the team and the operation, but he was selfish enough to pretend to ignore it.

Ever the one to put on a brave face, she quickly wiped her features clean and replaced the tightness in her eyes with a broad smile. She switched her mug to her left hand and stuck out her right arm in his direction.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Rogers, my dear friend,” she said, clearly waiting for his shake. He obliged.

“The same to you, Agent Carter,” he replied, and for the second time in nearly as many minutes he was back in Camp Lehigh, once again starry-eyed over this incredible woman. With a smile she let his hand go and moved to let him fill up his bottle.

“I’m relieved we got that cleared up,” she said as he made to leave the kitchen with his water and gym gear. “Oh, and Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Now that we’ve settled this, if you ever pull that nonsense of refusing to look me in the eye again, I will sock you harder than I hit Hodges that day in basic training,” she shot at him with that devilish gleam in her eye he’d always loved.

He managed a chuckle as he left the room. Shit, what had he gotten himself into?

__

 

Somehow, though, being friends with Peggy was one of the best things to happen to Steve in quite some time. The operation that sparked the whole thing went well and, to his surprise, they continued their budding friendship after the final debrief. Slowly but surely, Steve’s daily routine involved more and more of Peggy Carter until he spent much of his free time debating the merits of coffee versus tea, sparring in the gym, or slowly working through all of the movies she deemed cult classics that he’d missed while in the ice. It was nice for once to have an equal, both physically and emotionally. For all their differences now, Peggy had known him once, and known him well, and the more time they spent together, the more he felt that she knew him still. To give himself credit, he was getting pretty good at knowing her, too: he knew when to bring tea and when to bring wine when she vented to him after a bureaucratic day gone wrong. He knew when she wanted to be teased and when she needed to be called on her bullshit. Most importantly, he knew that she was as lonely as he was in this new world with none of their old friends or familiar features. He hoped that she felt a little less lonely, as did he, with her by his side.

All was going beautifully—swimmingly—too perfectly; he’d been able to hide the worst of his attraction and she rarely caught him staring at her profile instead of reviewing notes in their meetings anymore. She had somehow, unknowingly transitioned into being his best friend, sometimes even falling asleep together during their nightly movie watches and ending up curled around each other at 2 or 3 in the morning, but able to laugh it off with the ease that a friendship offers.

Then came her birthday.

Birthdays were kind of funny for them now, with the slow aging and all that, so while Peggy didn’t look a day over 30, her 91st birthday fell on a balmy late spring night in 2012 not quite a year since Steve had been pulled out of the ice. Peggy had flat-out refused a formal party of any sort, claiming she’d already had enough birthday parties in her lifetime and she had no use for any material gifts. The girls of the team, however, had demanded some sort of celebration—you only turn 91 once, they said—and convinced Peggy to come out for a night away from work. It was girls-only, they decreed, and they were going to have Fun. He didn’t begrudge Peggy for not wanting a big celebration, but he was glad Pepper and Nat had insisted on planning a little something. She deserved to be celebrated. Steve wasn’t at all disappointed to be left out of the birthday festivities, as were all of the guys, even Tony, much to his disappointment. Steve's own lack of ability to get drunk put a damper on nights out anyway, so he wouldn’t have been great company. He’d meant to give Peggy his gift for her after he’d ordered in her favorite lunch, but Pepper had promptly whisked her away for her own gift—a spa and beauty treatment—before he could do so. He was more than content to spend the night trying to work his way through the list of books Banner had recommended while waiting up to hear Peggy’s synopsis of the night. It gave him a chance to finally pass her his gift without the prying eyes of the others.

His neutrality on the subject of being left home for the night dimmed just a bit when the girls made a pointed exit through the common areas of the Tower where most of the team was scattered reading, watching TV, or chatting. Pepper and Nat came in first, snickering to one another and shooting glances toward the couches where Steve and Banner were perched with their reading material. Steve glanced up from his book to give the obligatory well-wishes only to have the words die in his throat as Peggy met them at the end of the hall.

Steve had fond memories of being wowed by Peggy’s outfits on more than one occasion during the war. He still found himself distracted by the curve of her body beneath her slim pants or the tautness of the buttons across her chest when they sat in meetings. But he had never seen her like this. Her hair was bouncy and flowing thanks to Pepper’s blowout, falling down around her shoulders. Her skin was positively glowing, her cheeks ever so slightly flushed as she rolled her eyes at her giggling friends. Once he noticed them, Steve couldn’t stop staring at her eyes—they were rimmed in a smudgy, sooty brown that brought out the subtle shade variations in her irises. He would swear with his dying breath that the red on her lips matched the specific red of the dress she’d once worn to that pub in 1943, the image of which was forever burned into his memory. Her top was a simple, shimmery silver, rather modest with its long sleeves, but Steve quickly redacted the “modest” designation when he caught sight of her entirely bare back. Her lower half was poured into the tightest pair of shiny pants Steve had ever seen—good God, were those leather?—and were topped with the most devastating pair of silver-studded heeled boots. Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman look so feminine yet powerful all at once and promptly forgot how to breathe.

By the time he’d managed to school his features into something more appropriate than a gaping jaw and bug eyes, Pepper had ceremoniously crowned Peggy with a glittery birthday sash and was ushering the trio out the door.

“Have fun,” he called, Peggy’s eyes sparkling with good spirit as she looked over her shoulder to wave in reply. The door swung shut behind her and they were off.

Still distracted by the shifting of the muscles in Peggy’s back as she’d reached for the door on her way out, Steve missed the utterly self-satisfied smirk from Tony where he sat watching the nightly news. To his left, Rhodey simply rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He thinks he’s not being obvious,” Rhodey murmured to Tony, who nodded.

“Worse, she’s even better at being subtle,” Tony replied.

__

Steve tried his best to stay up, really he did, but as the clock ticked on and the rest of the crew shuttled off to their respective bedrooms slowly but surely, the gentle hug of the surprisingly comfortable couch drew him under its spell. He dozed off around 12:30, was startled awake when his book crashed to the floor, and gave his reading another half hour of valiant effort before succumbing to sleep once more. He awoke again, more fully this time, when the door banged open.

“Shhhhhh!” he heard amongst a chorus of too-loud giggles. Footsteps made their way unevenly across the threshold. Maria and Natasha came in first, strong-arming Pepper through the door. Pepper, on her part, was doing little to help in the endeavor; she was grinning widely and her head tipped precariously closely to resting on Nat’s shoulder. To Steve’s surprise, the next dark figure to stumble through the doorway was the birthday girl herself.

“Steve!” she cried joyously, catching her weight on the back of the couch opposite to the one Steve lounged upon. “You’re here!” Her thick hair, probably oppressively hot during the heat of dancing in a crowded club, was pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Messy tendrils fell around her temples and dusted her glowing cheeks with dark waves. She seemed utterly full of life and completely, confusingly inebriated.

Steve glanced at Nat and Maria for an explanation, but they seemed to have their hands full with Pepper.

“Uh,” he managed. Nat threw an exasperated look over her shoulder as they attempted to wrangle Pepper down the hall to her room.

“Can you take care of her?” she asked, nodding towards Peggy. “We didn’t anticipate Thor’s birthday present packing such a punch. ‘Asgard’s weakest brew,’ my ass.”

The subject of their conversation was currently trying to figure out how to yank her boots off without undoing their clasps or sitting down while doing so. Steve realized not a second too soon what was about to happen and was able to catch her on her way down when she inevitably lost her balance.

“Oooh!” she exclaimed as Steve lifted her into his arms and headed down the opposite hallway to her own bedroom. Peggy threaded her arms around his neck and snuggled into the crook of his shoulder with a sigh. She kicked her feet idly as they made their way down the hall, Steve refusing to acknowledge the fact that he’d imagined carrying her bridal-style into a bedroom late at night in a very different context. He struggled with the doorknob for a moment before managing to slip into the room, only narrowly avoiding bashing Peggy’s head into the doorframe.

He set her gently on her feet just inside the door and paused with his hands outstretched in case she was still wobbly. She seemed able to hold her own, thankfully, and smiled indulgently up at him. She still didn’t look entirely stable, though, so Steve decided it would be prudent to make sure she got to bed alright.

“Peggy, d’you—d’you need anything?” he tried, not entirely certain what exactly Nat had meant by “take care of her.” He’d never had to do too much when Bucky came home drunk and he’d certainly never had to take care of a drunken woman. 

At his words, Peggy’s face fell into a deep pout.

“You never gave me a birthday present,” she said petulantly. “Pepper did, and Nat, and Thor, even Tony! But not you,” she ended sadly.

“Oh—I—well, I was waiting for you to get back. That’s why I was out on the couch. Wait here a moment and I’ll bring it to you?” Her face brightened in an instant. With a little effort, Steve managed to settle her safely on the edge of her bed—without stopping to think about the fact that it was her bed, and he was in her bedroom, and she probably kept her undergarments in one of those drawers over there, oh God—before ducking back out the door to his own room.

By the time he returned with the flat, imprecisely wrapped parcel, Peggy had managed to successfully shuck her shoes and curl into a ball near the headboard. Steve crossed into the room and paused awkwardly at the side of the bed, unsure of his next movement. Peggy smiled up at him and patted gently beside her, an obvious invitation to join her on the mattress. Strangely nervous and more than a little wary, Steve slid onto the bed as gently as possible; he had no idea if Peggy, like Bucky, tended to have a weak stomach when intoxicated.

He was reluctant to pass over the gift, even after waiting up all night for this very moment, especially since she was obviously invested in the present. He hoped she’d like it; it was something he himself would appreciate receiving, and they had similar enough tastes he was reasonably sure it would go over well. He just hoped it was enough. After all, he didn’t know what Pepper and Tony and even Thor had budgeted for her birthday, but it was certainly more than he’d spent, though it had taken a considerable amount of time to track down the gift. He’d debated for nearly a week on what to get her and had finally been struck by inspiration when Tony had teased him at dinner about the newest addition to his Smithsonian exhibit. The next morning, he had contacted the curator—anonymously at first, then dropping his name when he’d run into some administrative roadblocks. Not a week later, he’d gotten the slim envelope in the mail. It had been a small matter to arrange for JARVIS to order a simple wooden frame to house the photo. 

The image had been captured the night they’d returned from liberating the 107th Regiment. Reporters had been milling around camp to catch a glimpse of what they deemed “Captain America’s First Mission” and it had been child's play for Dum Dum to swipe a camera while Dernier distracted them with poor impressions of Hitler. The Commandos had assembled for a rowdy photo, all gangly arms and wide smiles. Even Bucky had cracked a wry smirk. At the very last second, Morita had nabbed an unsuspecting Peggy and thrust her into the foreground, right next to Steve. He’d caught her on her stumble and righted her just as the camera went off to result in a photo full of all the ones he’d cared for most at the time. He loved the photo and everything it stood for and figured Peggy would feel the same. He thought she would appreciate the fond memory of a moment of lightheartedness before everything had gone to hell.

Despite his misgivings about giving her the gift, he allowed Peggy to pry it out of his hands. Much more gently than he would have expected given her inability to stand up straight, she slid the frame out of its wrapping without tearing a single edge. She flipped the frame around to view the proper image and froze. Peggy stared wordlessly at the photo for a long moment until her shoulders began to gently shake, then she dissolved into desperate sobs. Before Steve could react, she tossed the photo onto the comforter and dashed into her bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Steve’s heart sank, but he resigned himself to waiting for her return to offer the apology he so obviously owed her.

As he waited, Steve tried not to listen, but it was difficult to not notice the spray of the shower or the rustling of the curtain as Peggy washed off the night’s grime. In an effort to distract himself, he tried to understand what about the image had caused such a negative reaction. Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with anything other than the possible reminder of the loss of all of their friends to the cruel test of time. He should’ve known to get her something more neutral. What else did women like now—chocolate? Flowers? Was it too late to rush order a gift basket?

He’d nearly made up his mind to run to the nearest all-hours market to buy something, anything, to make up for his abysmal excuse for a gift when he heard the shower stream peter out. Too late to do anything except face the firing squad.

A few long minutes later, Peggy emerged from the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a plush towel. Her hair fell in wet strands around her shoulders and her face was bare of the sultry makeup from before. She looked younger, less pulled together, but altogether more luminous. She seemed much more herself—he imagined her enhanced metabolism was already burning off even the strong Asgardian liquor—and looked surprised to see him still there.

“Steve? I-I thought you’d left, I’m sorry, let me—“ she reached for the bathroom door to presumably grab more substantial clothes and Steve tried not to notice how the stretch of her arm bared more of the soft, shower-pink skin of her breast.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll go. I just wanted to say sorry. You know, for the picture,” he said in a rush, blushing to his toes and wishing more than anything the ground would swallow him up. He reached for gift in question to take it with him when he slunk out of the room in shame. He’d ask Pepper for help and replace it with something Peggy would actually like in the morning. 

Peggy, on her part, seemed confused.

“Are you trying to apologize for my birthday present?” she said, stepping slowly towards the bed as if not to startle him. “Are you—are you trying to take it away?!” she said more desperately, noticing the frame in his grasp. She took the last large step to reach the bed, forgetting her attire, and the edges of her towel slipped open to reveal a stark design on the creamy white skin of her right hip. There, nestled on the palest spot of her body, just inside her hipbone where it would be covered by any bikini or pair of panties, visible only when totally nude, was a tiny tattoo. A minuscule, 5-pointed star surrounded by a circle.

Steve froze.

Peggy, who hadn’t seemed to notice the slip, took advantage of Steve’s distraction and plucked the offending frame out of his immobile grip. She clutched it protectively to her chest, staring down with reverence at the scene depicted within. Only then did she notice Steve unable to look away from the spot where the towel had fluttered back into place at her hip.

“Steve?” she asked warily, cautiously, trying to shift her towel closer around her body with one hand while juggling the picture in the other.

His mouth was dry as a bone. He had to clear his throat, then did it again, before he was able to form a sentence.

“I—is that—I mean—Peggy, do you have a tattoo?” he finally blurted.

To his surprise, Peggy flushed bright pink, then sighed heavily.

“I suppose this was bound to happen one day,” she said. “Hold on, let me go get my robe so we don’t have to have this conversation while I’m not clothed.”

She turned back towards the bathroom, setting the picture frame delicately on her dresser on her way. She didn’t quite pull the door all the way shut and Steve gulped at the obvious thwack of her damp towel hitting the floor. She emerged moments later clad in a silky pink robe that, while it technically covered more surface area than the towel, slipped along her curves in such a way that left little to the imagination.

Steve still hadn’t moved an inch. 

Peggy crossed the room to stand in front of Steve’s perch on the edge of the bed. She sighed once more and dropped her arms from their protective fold across her chest.

Steve didn’t budge.

She peered at him worriedly. “Steve, dear, are you quite alright?”

With effort, he shook himself. “You—you have a—.” He still couldn’t bring himself to say it, even though he strongly suspected what the tiny mark symbolized. It just made no sense. 

Peggy rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Steve. I have a tattoo. Have had for years, actually. Frankly, I’m quite surprised it’s held up this well over time,” she mused. “I do hope this silence doesn’t mean you’re bothered by women having tattoos? It’s quite common now.”

Steve had so many thoughts, but being bothered by the tattoo’s presence was definitely not one of them.

“God, Peggy, no, I just—where—I mean, when… “ he wondered if he would ever be capable of stringing a sentence together in her presence, when just the thought of the innocuous black ink, forever embedded under her skin—God help him. He still hadn’t been able to look away from her hip.

Seeming to understand his predicament, she shot him a half smile. “I thought you might have questions. The where, here in New York. A friend of a friend has a studio in Brooklyn. She was known for her work in permanent dyes, so I thought it gave the design the best chance of staying put despite the serum. As to the when, well, it was a little less than twenty years ago. Like I said, I’m surprised it’s lasted so well.”

Twenty years. She’d had a tattoo on her hip for twenty years and he—he couldn’t think about what that meant. He couldn’t afford to, not yet. He wondered why it was so hidden, then—

“Does anyone else—I mean, who knows about it?” He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

This time her smile was a little more knowing than he would have liked.

“Hm, let’s see. Myself, of course. The artist. A doctor in Brazil who had to sew up my abdomen when I had an unfortunate encounter with a knife and its owner, who wasn’t very nice. And now you,” she finished softly.

He processed that for a moment, then debated his options. He supposed he could always ask, and if she slapped him or kicked him out, he wouldn’t be much worse off than how he’d felt when she’d opened her present.

“Can I—will you show me?”

Peggy stiffened imperceptibly, then jerked her head in a nod. She took a step closer to the bed to where Steve sat nearly buzzing with anticipation. Her hands stretched down to where the bottom of her robe overlapped, then paused. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. Her fingers fluttered at the edges of the robe, then, thrusting her jaw out determinedly, she shifted the silk to the side to bare her hip.

And there it was—as bold and crisp as he’d seen just minutes before. A tiny star, surrounded by a circle, all in the deepest black imaginable. He shifted on the bed without real thought, scooting to the edge to get closer. Bending down until his nose was barely inches from her skin, he traced his eyes over and over the simple design. He exhaled slowly and couldn’t miss the way her entire body shivered under the heat of his breath. When he inhaled, he was overwhelmed by her scent: something floral, roses he realized dimly, probably her shower gel; the slight ghost of her perfume, warm and vanilla, clinging to her robe; and something deeper, muskier, which, when he realized belatedly how close his face was to certain parts of her anatomy, caused his entire face to heat up again. 

Independently of his own volition his fingers had found their way up to hover near his face, parallel to her hip. He risked a glance up to find her looking down at him, her stare wary but full of something darker he hadn’t seen in her eyes in a very long time. Without breaking her gaze, he brought his fingers closer until they were barely hovering over her skin. He quirked an eyebrow. At her answering nod, he looked back down to watch the pads of his fingers brush over the ink. At the first brush of his skin on hers, Peggy exhaled harshly through her nose. Her skin was silky-smooth beneath his touch, the texture not at all marred by the ink contained within, but he marveled at the sight of his own hands covering up and revealing the design in turn. 

He took his time familiarizing himself with the design, then, when he felt brave enough, looked up at her once more to ask the question that had been circling his head since the slip of her towel.

“What is it?” he whispered, hoping and praying his hunch was right, but not trusting himself.

“I think you know exactly what it is, Steve,” she murmured in return, her cheeks flushing yet steadfastly refusing to break his gaze.

This changed everything.

Slowly, Steve let his hand drop from her hip. All the while keeping his eyes on hers, he slipped from the bed. Despite the proximity of their bodies, Peggy didn’t back away as Steve rose to his full height. His chest brushed hers as he straightened and both shivered at the contact. 

With more restraint than he thought he possessed, Steve paused before her. His tongue automatically darted out to wet his lips and he watched Peggy’s eyes track its movement before snapping back up to meet his gaze. He stood stock still for a long moment, weighing his options. Before he’d finished analyzing the pros and cons of what he was oh-so-tempted to do, Peggy made the decision for him. Her hands snaked up from their position trapped between her hips and his to rest softly on his chest. 

At her cue, Steve’s right hand responded by sliding up to cup her jaw while his left settled on her hip, his thumb rubbing circles on the tattoo through the thin fabric that now concealed it. He tilted his head and leaned in. “Peggy,” he breathed against her lips. He felt her lashes flutter closed and her neck craned up to meet him. Despite the heady feelings of want clouding his brain, he made himself pause. He had to make sure this was both of them. 

“Peggy, you’re sure—you’re not doing this just because I—you’re not still, you know, operating under clouded judgment?”

“Steve, you complete dunce,” she said. “Unless you think my judgment has been clouded for seventy years, shut up and kiss me.”

And so he did.

God, he’d forgotten what it was like to kiss her. They’d only shared the one, though he’d be mortified to admit just how many times—both before and after the Valkyrie—he’d imagined them doing it again. Her lips were pillow-soft and plump, gently exploring his own. While he suspected she was far more experienced than he, he’d tried his fair share of tricks with the chorus girls on tour what felt like eons ago, though he supposed he was probably more than a little rusty. Luckily, judging by her reactions, breathy sighs and satisfied hums in the back of her throat, he wasn’t too out of practice.

Somehow, he hadn’t quite noticed Peggy’s arms working their way up his chest to twine around his neck. They knotted and twisted in the simple long sleeved tee he wore, alternating between pulling at his shirt and gently scratching at his nape. He’d started the kiss with the intention of feeling things out gently, gauging if the spark he’d once felt was still there, but it quickly erupted into an all-consuming fire. In no time, his lips were tracing down her jaw to mouth at the sweet, sensitive skin under her ear. He tipped her head up to follow the deep vee of her robe down to the creamy skin of her décolletage and was rewarded with a sigh. After letting him peruse the beginning of the ample dip that was her expansive cleavage, she muscled his head back up with surprising strength to meet her lips once more. Trusting that she was well and truly committed to the current course of action, Steve used the leverage of his left hand, still hovering on her hip, to pull her snug against his body, not realizing what that would reveal to her.

The new pressure against her abdomen made Peggy pause. She wrenched her mouth from his, uttering a disappointed whimper nonetheless, and panted into the crook of his neck for a moment. Steve appreciated the moment to gather his wits about him, fully aware he’d probably overstepped. Peggy was the first to break the silence.

“Well, that was quite overdue,” she said, then dissolved into giggles. The giggles quickly turned into full blown laughter and soon she was crying from mirth. “Oh, goodness, if I’d known that’s what would happen when you saw my tattoo I’d’ve shown you ages ago, darling.”

Steve smiled, mystified, but enjoying the feeling of her in his arms. “But I thought—I thought we were friends? I thought that’s what you wanted?” At his words, Peggy’s grin faltered. 

“Steve, you wouldn’t even look at me for weeks. I—I’ll admit to having hoped, when Fury told me they’d found you, that things might be the same as before. But when you refused to even be in the same room as me without being forced, what was I supposed to think? I tried to stay away, darling, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand not being near you, so I offered what I thought you might accept—friendship,” she confessed, shrugging away from him to sit on the bed. “In fact, in retrospect, I suppose I should’ve been the one asking you if you were alright with taking that last step,” she frowned.

Steve tried to work through this new development. This whole time, he’d been the one putting a damper on their interactions? He, who could barely focus when Peggy was in the room? He, who dreamt of her nearly every night? He, who had spent all those dreadful nights out on reconn missions with the Commandos wishing she could be curled up in his tent instead of having to split it with Happy?

Good lord, he’d been an idiot.

Gingerly, expecting some backlash, he settled on the bed next to her. She appeared to be lost in thought, staring absently at the wall, so he gently took her hand in his, surprising them both. 

“Peggy,” he began softly. “You’re right on one account, I couldn’t look at you for a long time after I woke up. Still can’t, when you wear getup like you wore tonight. I was afraid you’d be able to read all over my face just how much I wanted you. I figured—I figured after all these years, whatever you felt for me, if there had ever been anything, had fallen away. But don’t you ever think I don’t still carry a torch for you. You gotta understand, Peggy—I’m crazy about you. Have been from the moment I met you. I just thought, well, you deserved something more.”

She gaped at him.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you have to be the most blockheaded”—“stubborn”—“infuriating”— “man I have ever met!” she exclaimed, emphasizing each of her lovely adjectives with a punch to his chest. “You’re crazy about me? Well, here’s news, buster, I’m crazy about you!” She probably would have continued to pummel him if he hadn’t caught her wrists, pulled her in towards his lap, and gently kissed her.

“It seems to me,” he drawled when he broke from the kiss, “that we are in the interesting predicament of both having some unresolved feelings for the other.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, Mr. Confident now, are we?” she said. “I’m of the opinion I deserve to be made up to, you know, after all that time spent being friends,” she said, spitting out the word like it was a curse. She took a deep breath, working herself up for a speech. “I think—mmmrph!”

He’d cut her off again.

“That’s fun,” he said with a grin some time later, both flushed and breathing heavily. She’d managed to clamber more fully into his lap to sit perched sideways on his legs with Steve settled against the headboard, his feet sticking straight out in front of him. Peggy’s robe had slipped open to bare her thigh and he rubbed slow circles on the exposed skin as they caught their breath.

“Yes, yes, you quite enjoy kissing, I could’ve told you that,” she quipped, but her eyes sparkled in that way he loved and her mouth quirked up at one side, so he knew he was off the hook, at least for the moment. Before she could remember why she’d been cross with him, he slid his hand up the outside of her thigh to hover at her hip again.

“So, I’ve gotta ask. Why’d you do it?” he said, thumbing the spot he already had committed to memory. 

“Truthfully? I wanted to keep a piece of you with me permanently. You have no idea, Steve—“ her voice quivered for a second, but she soldiered on, staring down at his chest and playing absentmindedly with the tie of her robe. “When you went into the ice, I didn’t know what to do with myself. You were the best we had, the best soldier and the best man, and all of a sudden you were gone. And you ass, you refused to give us your coordinates!” she said, but he predicted her next move and wrapped her in a firm hug before she could get a hand out to hit him again. He was beginning to suspect that being with Peggy like this was going to be a very physical undertaking, and merely thinking that phrase had him shifting uncomfortably beneath her to avoid embarrassing himself.

“Anyway, those first few years were hard,” she continued. “I threw myself into my work, then had to pull back when it became clear I wasn’t aging. I took on freelancing, you know that, but I wanted something to tie me to my roots. The best option—the only option, to me—was you,” she said with a shrug, as if it were that simple, as if tattooing his mark on her body wasn’t the most romantic (and attractive, dear lord, his brain supplied) thing he’d ever seen.

He cuddled her closer to his chest.

“That,” he said, “is incredibly sweet. And sexy. Did I mention sexy? I love this,” he rubbed her hip. “Can I see again?”

She laughed, the beautiful, pealing sound he remembered from both Tony’s sordid jokes and Morita’s awful puns. “You are awfully sure of yourself, Captain Rogers. Why, it’s almost as if you’re confident I’ll say yes.” He just grinned at her, wholly and unabashedly eager to get his hands on her again.

Peggy pushed herself up from his chest and eyed him, clearly debating her next move. Just as he was about to ask if there was something embarrassing on his face or if she’d decided not to show him after all, she turned gracefully in his grip to kneel beside him on the bed. Instead of staying perched beside him as he expected, she swung her right leg over his lap to straddle his waist. Her robe had enough extra fabric that all the essentials stayed covered, but barely, and her entire right thigh slipped free. With her standing up on her knees and him slouched on the bed, her core was centered before his face. She shuffled forward on her knees and he automatically gripped the backs of her thighs for added support. Once she was satisfied with her position, she gripped the headboard above him and nodded down at him. “Go on,” she murmured.

Keeping his right hand steady on her left thigh, Steve leaned in towards her right hip. He used his left forefinger to tease at the apex of her robe where it met her thigh, enjoying the anticipation of drawing it out. He worked his way up slowly, first baring the bottom of the circle, then the first points of the star, then finally the whole design came into view. He studied it for a long moment, still barely able to believe she’d forever marked herself with such a clear tie to him. Glancing up at her, he found her staring down at him with unconcealed desire. Emboldened, he kept her gaze as he bent to press his lips at the center of the star.

“Oh,” she gasped, and then again when he parted his lips and flicked his tongue at the center. He slid his hands up to grip her waist to hold her in place as he worked his way over and around the tattoo, kissing and licking and nipping across her flesh as he saw fit. He spent countless moments nuzzling there at the crease of her thigh, Peggy slowly turning to mush above him, before he figured “In for a penny, in for a pound” and began the slow trek across to where she really wanted him.

When she realized what he was up to, she shuddered from head to toe, twisting away from his searching mouth. “Steve, you don’t—“

“Shh,” he whispered against her skin. “I know. Let me.” She calmed at that and allowed him to proceed. He’d never been more thankful than in this moment for the night that Vivian, one of his fellow dancers, had snuck into his bunk after the Philly show. She’d requested that he “Help her out,” as she’d put it, taking the time to teach him along the way. He was confident he knew enough from her lessons to make it decent for Peggy, even if he couldn’t give her what she truly needed. If he knew Peggy at all, he expected she wouldn’t hesitate to interfere if the need arose.

He began by kissing his way along her hipbone, giving himself generous time to enjoy each new inch of bared skin. The closer he got to the center of her, the less resistance she put up; by the time his breath was ghosting along the inner crease of her thigh, she was twisting above him, trying to force him where she wanted him. Then he realized she’d been hovering on her knees for quite some time and the shifting might be due to discomfort more than pleasure, so he slid further down the pillows and applied pressure to her hips to guide her down. He wasn’t sure if the sigh she let out was from the relief from the pressure on her knees or a response to his tongue slipping into her as she settled just above his mouth, but it was full of such contented pleasure he didn’t care.

He licked gently along the seam of her, tasting the wetness gathered there, using his nose to flick at the hardened little nub at the top of each pass. He listened to what she liked, always the avid learner, and judged when her moans meant she needed something else and when they meant stay put, don’t move, just like that. When he gathered her clit into his mouth and sucked, hard, she cried out, and for the first time he wondered how much they needed to worry about the thickness of the walls. Then again, it was nearing 4 in the morning and he doubted many others would be awake. He promptly put others out of his mind when she ground down against his chin, obviously seeking more in his moment of distraction. 

Confident that she had enough of a handle on the headboard to support herself, he trailed his right hand inward towards the part in her robe. He smoothed his palm inside the fabric, gliding over the curve of her gorgeous behind, then coming back around to her front. He switched the attention of his mouth to flutter soft kisses at her clit and slowly slid his forefinger into her. She moaned, long and low, and he couldn’t help but grin beneath her. She rocked back and forth under his ministrations, her body unable to decide if it wanted more of his mouth or his hands. When he determined she was ready, he added another finger and pressed against the spongy length along the front of her abdomen. Her cry caught in the back of her throat and one of her hands reached down to twine into his hair, holding him in place as she ground once, twice, three times against his chin before shuddering into his mouth. 

He guided her through it and caught her as she slipped down from her perch, her wetness leaving a trail he could feel through his thin shirt.

“Mmrph,” she said inelegantly into the crook of his neck. Her weight, a boneless mess of tempting curves, made it difficult to stay a gentlemen when all he wanted to do was rut into the dip of her hip. His own arousal, ignored during the act of pleasing her, was reminding him how desperately it would like some attention too. He wondered if—if he just shifted like so—

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Peggy said, lifting her head. “If you get to play, so do I.” He groaned as she rocked her hips down onto his erection. She rolled off him and tapped his shoulder.

“You take care of this,” she pointed to his shirt. He ripped it off in a heartbeat and launched it off into a far corner of the room, much to her delight. Almost as if to spite him for being so quick at his job, Peggy fiddled with his belt painstakingly slowly, fluttering her fingers everywhere except where he needed them. After several moments of teasing, he reached down to cover her hands with his. He glanced down at her with hooded eyes.

“Please don’t,” he said roughly. “I’d like to make this last.” She grinned but acquiesced, expertly flipping his belt open and popping his fly. He let out the breath he’d been holding at the release of pressure and made the wise decision to ignore how she’d learned to open pants with one hand. Besides, it was hard to think about anything other than the cool of her hand sneaking into his shorts and--ohhhhh, his mind went blank. His eyes rolled back into his head as she gave an experimental squeeze. 

“God, Peggy,” he ground out from behind clenched teeth. She rucked his jeans down until they cleared his knees and he managed to kick them off without much finesse. She settled between his legs and gave him a look of pure smolder so appealing that he had to shut his eyes against the intense visual stimulation. Which, in turn, left him unprepared for the hot, wet lick from the root of him to the tip. He curled up off the bed, panting harshly. “Jesus,” he said. 

“That’s the second time you’ve called me some form of a deity,” she said conversationally, as if her hand wasn’t hot on the length of him and her mouth wasn’t blowing gently, teasingly across the trail her tongue had left behind. “Should I be concerned or flattered?”

He just gaped at her. Thankfully, she took pity on him and took him back into her mouth.

Either she was punishing or rewarding him for teasing her before, he couldn’t quite tell, because she worked him over at a brutal pace. It was all he could do to hold off, thinking of everything from the time he’d had to take care of Bucky during a nasty bout of the stomach bug to when he’d found Banner naked in the gym, passed out after a Hulk transformation. Nothing was working, not with her hot mouth and its devastating suction, her tight hand following every movement. 

“Peg, you gotta stop,” he gasped. “I-I can’t—“

“Shh,” she said, and redoubled her efforts. She took him deep into her mouth, all at once, and he was gone. He jerked up off the bed, gasping as his vision went white. She stroked him until he feebly pushed her off, at which point she slid up the bed to snuggle in the crook of his arm, grinning like the cat that ate the cream. “Enjoy yourself?” she asked innocently. He just groaned and hugged her closer.

When he felt up to forming words again, he turned to face her. She lay sprawled on her side, her face tilted towards him, her lashes low on her tired yet contented gaze. A slow smile spread across his face as he bent his neck to press a quick kiss to her reddened lips.

“Quite the pity that it took us all this time, don’t you think?” she murmured. “I’d say that was a pretty satisfactory first run.”

“Satisfactory? I’ll show you satisfactory,” he growled, pulling her flush against him and nuzzling down the front of her robe. She just laughed and pushed him away playfully, settling back down on the far side of the bed.

“Ow,” she said, reaching under her and pulling out the long-discarded wrapping paper with a crinkle. “I can’t believe we didn’t notice this.” 

Steve smirked.

“I think you were pretty well distracted, if you ask me,” he said. Peggy rolled her eyes in response. He was beginning to realize that eye rolls would be a common theme of this whatever-it-was too.

As he stared at her, his grin slowly faded, the wrapping paper triggering his memory. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her with a frown. She turned back from balling up the wrapper to aim for the trash to catch him staring at her quizzically. 

“Yes, my darling?”

“You cried when I gave you your gift. Why?”

Her gaze turned wry and she wriggled out of his reach. He made a noise of protest and she waved her hand at him. “Hang on, I’ll be just a second.”

She slipped out of bed to retrieve the abandoned photograph from the dresser and brought it back to bed. Turning to face him, she pointed at the photo.

“What do you see here?” she asked him. Steve paused, looking for the trick.

“Well…the Commandos. Buck. Our friends,” he said slowly. “I thought’d you’d like it, a reminder of the past. I guess I was wrong, I mean, judging from your reaction—I can pick something else tomorrow, like chocolate or—“

She cut him off with a quick kiss. “No, darling, I don’t want anything else. Look again.”

He peered at the picture once more. “I don’t understand—what am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Steve. Look at us,” she said softly.

He narrowed his eyes to focus on the photo. The grainy, sepia quality didn’t help things along, but all he saw was the two of them leaning into one another, enjoying the company of their friends.

“You’re gonna have to spell it out, Peggy, I’m not following,” he confessed.

“Your arm is around me, you’re smiling down at me, I’m practically shooting hearts out my own eyes at you—sweetheart, we look utterly in love,” she said, and as soon as she mentioned it he couldn’t believe he’d missed it. They did look like a couple, his arms wrapped around hers to catch her after she’d been dragged into the picture; their soft, surprised smiles at one another; their focus on each other rather than the camera.

“When I opened this, I couldn’t think of anything except how much I wanted you and how—much to my disappointment—you didn’t see me like this anymore.”

“Oh,” was all he could say, softly. “Peggy, I’m so—“

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she countered fiercely. “This has been the most incredible birthday.”

A slow grin stole across Steve’s face.

“Well, technically all of the major developments happened after midnight…”

“Oh, shush, you,” she said, and shut him up with more kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> Incidentally, Peggy's tattoo is inspired by my own (a lightning bolt, not a shield, but writing this has me tempted).


End file.
